


Castiel and The Muse

by alnora



Series: Fragments [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, first fic, poor attempt at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnora/pseuds/alnora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustrated with his inability to emotionally express himself to Dean, Castiel confides in Sam for help. Probably wasn't the best idea. Rated as such just to be safe; some language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel and The Muse

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything for many, many years, so I'm painfully nervous. And even then only a small audience read it. Sigh. Anyway. I originally intended to release this as a second part to another story idea but for whatever reason I wrote this first. Depending on my drive, and if people don't destroy me in reviews (I'm crying already, you don't even know), I'll begin writing that soon enough.

A rustle of feathers announced the presence of Castiel into the Batcave, whose current and at this moment, only, resident was scanning a shelf in the library. He was not looking for anything in particular; the sheer volume of information not at his hands still made his head spin. As helpful as his father's journal had been for near a decade -oh, him and Dean would have been dead many, many times over if not for those scribbles and crude doodles- it was now like comparing _Goodnight, Moon_ to Kafka. Possibly hundreds of years of rituals, demon identification, their weaknesses and disposal, all patiently waiting for a soul to view their pages once more, to accomplish their purpose and aid—

 

“I am in need of your assistance, Sam.”

 

Always cutting to the chase, welcomes be damned. “Yeah, it's good to see you too, Cas.” No malice in those words, of course. He stood up straight once more and turned to the angel who in fact did look to be in need of assistance. As steely cool and stern as his voice could be, sometimes his facial expression and body language could give away how he really felt. Right now, eyes darting to the side and hand clenching occasionally, he looked as if he had something difficult to say. Considering Cas never holds back his thoughts and perspectives to anyone, it must be of great concern to him. “What's up?”

 

“It”-slightly slower, as if it were a brand new word he had learned-“concerns Dean.”

 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Of course it does.”

 

“I fail to see the humor in my discomfort,” said Cas, eyes finally locking on Sam's.

 

“It's not that it's funny,” Sam began as he walked to the table in the center of the library, “but you know as well as I do the only reason you even look in my direction is because of Dean.” He sat down and gestured for Castiel to do the same. He ignored it.

 

“I do not hate you, Sam,” Cas sighed, losing patience, “but that is not what I'm here for.” _I do not hate you_ was probably the closest Cas has ever been to giving a compliment so Sam let him continue. “This concerns a human custom I'm still not familiar with.” He paused, reminiscing. “The pizza man did not set a good example.”

 

“Whoa, hold on” Sam raised his hands, startled at a sudden implication. He just mentioned _Dean_ and _pizza man_ in front of him. This had gone from friendly advice to horrifying nightmare in several seconds. “Are you asking me for crib notes? Because I'm not going to give the guy seeing my brother tips on how...” Sam trailed off seeing to confused expression settle on the angel's features. “You have no idea what that is, don't you?”

 

“No.”

 

The dark shadow cast over his soul was lifted. The sun broke free of the rain clouds. Birds chirped. Baby kittens meowed and fell over, overtaken by sleep. A choir in Sam's head sang in praise of not having to answer any questions the virgin angel had about sex. He watched enough porn. He shouldn't have any at this point.

 

“OK, good, good,” Sam exhaled. “That's so great to hear. As long as it's not about _that_ , I may be able to help out.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”

 

“You know, while making sufficient progress, I still lack a suitable grasp of idioms and cultural phraseology of not just America but all countries on this planet.” Any place in the bunker was better than looking at Sam directly at this point in his speech. This was not due to embarrassment as the emotion was unknown to him. Rather, it was frustration. “This makes it... difficult to speak with Dean.”

 

“That works both ways,” Sam stated.

 

Cas nodded. “He feels and cannot say, while I am still trying to place my own. I understand them, but my reaction is ungainly. Clumsy.” He sighed, frustration still growing. “Improper to the situation at hand. I could progress though it eventually with action, but this is different. Our personalities are conflicting and I am afraid this will end badly for us sooner rather than later.”

 

The younger Winchester could understand the situation Castiel was in. Neither of the two men were known for being emotionally accessible. Dean would rather reminisce on violent and destructive memories of Hell than hear someone direct the word “love” at him. He would either turn up the tape player as high as it would go causing permanent eardrum damage or kick your ass out of the car 50 miles from a motel rather than talk about how he was feeling. He would say nothing. Bottling his emotions deep down had always been his way to cope. Even in positive occurrences he would hardly mention, lest a word break the spell and snatch away the happiness he felt. It is a sparse and fragile affair in the life of a hunter.

 

Castiel on the other hand had a pretty good excuse of not being human. But since becoming a more friendly companion to the Winchesters and observing humanity up close rather than his post in heaven, he tried hard, as hard as his being would permit him, to assimilate. Taking up vocal cues to react a specific way, translating slang, interpreting body language. Humans evolve, adapt, to survive. Angels are unable to. As perfect creatures they do not need to. It is natural for Cas to be resistant to change as he's maintained the same state, the same mindset, for millennia upon millennia. But it is very possible. Despite still being a dick, even Cas's brother Gabriel had changed. Humanity had changed him. Being here on Earth, living as one. Enjoying the show of lesser creatures, sympathizing in their cause and most importantly, indulging as one.

 

Playing the unstoppable force, Castiel. The immovable object, Dean Winchester.

 

“Sometimes I wonder how you two even suggested becoming a couple,” said Sam, more to himself than Cas.

 

“It just happened. More or less. I— “

 

Sam quickly held up a hand to silence Castiel. “No no, that's good. Those are more details I don't need. “ Seeing just a sliver of agitation in Cas's eyes, he continued. “That's personal. Not everything needs to be shared, even if I am his brother.”

 

“I am...” he trailed off, beginning to slowly pace the length of the floor, “sorry to cause you discomfort.”

 

Sam laughed sardonically. “You are the worst liar I have ever seen.”

 

Cas' shoulders tense and he whipped around to face Sam, control over his volume finally wavering. “I came to you seeking help, not to be reprimanded for trying to be considerate of your feelings. I do not know why I came.”

 

Knowing Castiel was a mere second away from mojoing his way out of the bunker in a huff and very likely to give his brother an earful that would grate the very soul of Dean, Sam finally acquiesced. “I'll help, Cas, I will. As long as you stop pacing around and sit down. You're making me dizzy.” He smiled warmly. He may tease the angel, but you always bust the balls of whom you care for. Even more so now: he was family. “Friend” was a term lost many tears, many arguments, many bloody fights ago.

 

On the opposite side of the table, Cas finally came to rest, hands folded on the table top and back like a ruler. He wasn't completely reassured by Sam's words, but patience was something he had to learn. Yes, that's what Dean told him. Using the Impala **was** a satisfactory method of transportation; bathroom breaks are in fact a necessity; Dean gets four hours of sleep. Not one, not a half hour. Four. _If you can't wait that long, go and do whatever you angels usually do this late at night. Don't watch me sleep the entire time, either... 's creepy._ This was not only referring to Cas watching from beside the bed, but also several failed experiments of him trying to “sleep” next to Dean. (By this time Sam suggested getting his own room while they were on the road. By no means did he think they were intimate yet, but it is better to be safe than sorry.) While he can be rendered unconscious, forcing himself into the state was impossible. The result: staring a hole into the back of the Winchester's head until he turned over and pushed Castiel onto the floor. Sleep is something he'd have to practice.

 

Despite being kicked out of bed and room, one of those hours was still spent watching Dean, once REM sleep took hold. Breath barely audible, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest under the sheet of a motel bed, a face not bloodied or twisted in pain, but halcyon. When a nightmare overtook – his forty years in hell, Bobby, the horrific death of his mother – he would be there to whisk the images away with a touch. While he would rather have Dean awake, Cas still considered this time of significance.

 

Patience and sleep. He would continue to practice that.

 

“So you wanna talk to Dean that's more his language than antiquated theologian, right?”

 

“I am indeed old, but I am by no means a sch–”

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

Castiel sighed, more at himself than Sam. Always obsessing over details. Something else to work on?

 

“Yes. I wish for Dean to understand my feelings.”

 

“Which are...?”

 

The angel's countenance was as blank as a model's.

 

Sam groaned as he slid a hand through his hair. Dean was right, he thought. He's a baby in the body of a 35-year-old man inhabited by a celestial being. This is too much. Why did he agree again? For his brother? That excuse is not enough. “Do you like him? Love him? Want to punch him? Anything?”

 

Cas hesitated. Softly: “I... I do believe it is love.” If Sam didn't know any better, he almost sounded coy, like a small child being asked about their first crush, when they learned that boy and girls did not in fact have cooties. If Dean were not the object of Cas's affection he'd think it almost cute. It took some willpower to not lean over the table to ruffle his hair and say _Dawww_ with a syrupy sweetness. The act of course would piss Castiel off unbelievably. God, he wanted to do it.

 

“Why can't you say that? You love someone, you tell them.”

 

“Can you honestly tell me you think Dean has said that to me?” Sam shook his head. “Precisely. It's not so simple.”

 

The youngest Winchester digested this slowly. “What you want is 'love', just without the love?”

 

“I believe Dean would not respond well to such a direct approach. Not yet. I may scare him off.”

 

“So we need someone to speak for you, and I already told you it won't be me,” Sam silenced Cas as he saw the angel about to respond. A proxy voice. Someone to say what he feels.

 

As hard as he made this concept out to be, thinking back now, Sam knows exactly where Castiel is coming from. He had had a similar problem with Jessica -he could hardly believe- nearly a decade ago. Jess, his first serious girlfriend. High school dates never went past the first; by the time he became acclimated to his new school and made a friend _to_ date, it was time to hit the road again, another town, another state, another face he would leave and never see again. Jess... was special. Not the first, but the one who should have been.

 

Sam never had Dean's assertive confidence, a charisma that held a snare on just about anyone. He had nothing to prove because with a sentence you knew exactly who you were getting. While not lacking any confidence himself, his approach was not nearly as aggressive. Perhaps that was because, while Dean was more than content with one night stands, this was not Sam's goal. Cocky was good for a night, but it would never continue into another. Nothing in the brothers' lives was permanent, why do something so impetuous on purpose? Sam craved something familiar, something he could come home to everyday, _knowing_ he would come home to it everyday, to fall asleep next to, to buy Christmas and birthday presents for. Something solid and certain.

 

Getting to that point was not easy. Sam to was at times lost for words and sometimes it was easier for someone or something else to speak for him. Small slips of paper with poetry tucked away in school folders, mix tapes handed off before parting. Such small gestures went a long way. For when he could not speak to her, when he didn't know what to say, when “you're amazing” wasn't enough.

 

The words of a stranger.

 

 _Of course!_ The idea hit him so suddenly he nearly fell off his chair. Sam grinned at Cas in an almost smug satisfaction. “I think I got just the thing for you.” He pushed his large frame off the the chair and strode to the corner of the library with no other hint or explanation. The location of the book was here somewhere, but which shelf? The top... no. The second? Not there either. How about... there. He slipped the book out and held the prize, his great gift to Castiel, over his head as if he won it at a carnival.

 

“This, Cas, “ Sam handed the slim hard bound book to Cas's expecting hands, “is the answer to your problems.” The cover was blank as most older books were, so he turned the book over in his hands to the spine. He had to read the name twice to be sure his eyes were not deceiving him.

 

“Are... are you sure about this?” Cas asked cautiously. “Dean does not seem to be the type to enjoy these works.”

 

“Don't let the macho exterior fool you,” Sam chuckled. He leaned back against the table and motioned for the befuddled angel to scan the pages. “Just read through it, memorize something you like, pop in on Dean and tell him.”

 

“Truly?” Apprehension tinted his gravely voice.

 

Sam flashed shark teeth. “What? You don't trust me?”

 

<>

 

“I do not want to have this discussion while I'm eating.”

 

“What, you don't believe me?”

 

“It's not that I do or don't believe you,” Sam placed the fork down and motioned to the crowded late day diner, “I just don't want to have this conversation here. Or anywhere else, really.” He took a gigantic gulp for tea to vainly calm his nerves.

 

“How can you sit there drinking your frou-frou dainty tea and say you've _never_ –“

 

“Because!” Sam stopped himself as he saw some agitated and puzzled glances turned his way. He lowered his voice as well as his head, the sting of it still remaining. “Because I'm not a perverted 14-year-old boy.”

 

Dean took a bite of his bacon burger and considered this, slowly chewing. After several seconds, he continued. “So what you're saying is that you don't think Crowley wears women's underwear under his clothes.” Sam covered his face with his hand and may have sobbed. “I've known some strange guys, and he seems like just the type to do that.” Dean picked up a french fry and looked it over thoughtfully. “It's probably because of the accent, huh?” The fry was popped in his mouth, Dean happy about his addendum.

 

This booth was becoming too confining. The restaurant was too confining. Being in the same state as Dean was too confining. The grilled chicken salad sat across from him half finished, but it was not enough to keep him in the company of... whatever the hell Dean was. “Damnit Dean, you can have this conversation with yourself because I'm leaving.” He began to shimmy out of the booth seat. “You can pay the bill,” he mumbled.

 

Castiel materialized beside Dean at that moment, giving both men a startle as it usually did. He wasted no time invading Dean's personal space, close enough to study every pore and freckle on his face. Sam glanced around the diner to see if Castiel's appearance garnered any attention. Well, any more attention than his reactions to Dean may have brought. Thankfully, it went unnoticed.

 

“Uh. Hey, Cas. Feelin' okay? You look a bit peckish.” He moved his head back, needing a little space to breath. By now Cas would move back sensing Dean's uneasiness. Today was different. Today, he had Dean caught between the window and himself for a reason. He was trapped. The nerd was holding him and his food hostage! Not with threats, but intense glaring.

 

The elder Winchester turned to his brother and mouthed, “What's going on?” He replied “Why would I know?” in the same manner, which was the truth. Sam had not seen Cas in the 3 days since he gave the book away in the Batcave. The time between his brother and Cas had certain been much shorter and because Dean had not mentioned the angel saying anything _stranger_ than normal, he assumed that nothing was said from the book at all.

 

That was about to change. Sam pushed down devious smirk he felt was about to show on his face and continued to look on, forgetting he was about to leave in a huff only seconds ago to sulk in the Impala. This was an act of indirect revenge, damn right he was going to enjoy ever awkward moment of it.

 

Cas bridged the gap Dean had created and began.

 

“ _As an unperfect actor on the stage,_  
Who with his fear is put beside his part,  
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage”

 

“Wait, what is...” Dean quickly turned his view from Sam to Cas in a small panic before setting back on Sam. “Is he cursed? Did a witch curse him? Angels don't get sick so it has to–“

 

The statement was cut short as Castiel grasped Dean's chin with his thumb and forefinger and brought his gaze back to himself. “It is imperative that I complete this passage. Please hold you comments until I am done.”

 

Dean shook his head, knocking Cas's hand away. “Passage? What passage?!” Cas ignored him and continued.

 

“ _Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;  
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say_ – _”_

 

“It's a curse, Sammy! I'll hold him, you search his pockets for a hex bag!”

 

“I am _not_ ,” he stressed, slamming his fist onto the table, nearly firing off a fork in the process and garnering the attention of surrounding customers again who began to murmur about “rude young people.” “...cursed. My choice in passage was poor.” Stress and disappointment began to swell in his voice. “I am sorry for offending you. I promise to do better next time.”

 

And as quickly as he had arrived, Cas disappeared. Dean's mouth gaped open for what felt like an eternity in disbelief, staring at the space his angel had occupied.

 

“So then!” Sam interjected, breaking the silence. The scene that took place was as uncomfortable as he could have hoped for. Cas was pissed and Dean was at a loss for words. A job well done. “Still think it's a hex?”

 

“He said 'next time.' There's going to be a next time,” Dean whispered.

 

<>

 

After borrowing Sam's laptop to find out if Castiel was indeed hexed or not (“Dean, I really don't think Cas is cursed...” “You don't know that! That was weird, even for Cas!”), he learned that we was not. It was much worse.

 

“Shakespeare? He's speaking to me in Shakespeare?”

 

“Shakespeare is not its own language,” Sam lectured, seated at the foot of the bed.

 

Dean snorted indignantly. “Course it is. You gotta translate it just like Enochian and Latin.”

 

“There is so much wrong with that sentence I can't even begin to respond,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Dean stood up from the motel's stiff-backed chair and sauntered to the kitchen's mini-fridge. “Good thing because I don't want to hear it, anyway.” God did he need this beer right now; coffee wasn't going to soothe his nerves today.

 

Sam followed his brother with his eyes as he sat back down, ignoring the back-handed comment. “Why is it freaking you out so much? Cas has an odd way of speaking, so this shouldn't be new to you.”

 

“It was so... sudden. And Shakespeare sounds too much like poetry to me. You're telling me you wouldn't be a little freaked out if a guy started reciting poetry to you surrounded by a ton of people?” He shifted uncomfortably because _this god damn chair is so god damn hard no human of sound mind could have made it._ And maybe it was because this entire predicament was uncomfortable. Damn chair. Damn Cas.

 

Sam pretended to contemplate. “I don't know how to respond to that, considering I don't like guys as much as you do.” Dean's only response to that was a glare full of venom and the promise that somewhere, someday, he would seek vengeance. “Don't get all huffy with me; I really don't know what I'd do!”

 

“Exactly. I didn't know how to react to something like that. Like I was Bambi and Cas was a semi going 70 straight at me.”

 

“Is a love sonnet really the most uncomfortable thing Cas has said to you? Since you're been together, anyway,” Sam added.

 

“I guess not,” Dean considered quietly, but a realization dawned on him before he could elaborate. “Why are we even having this conversation? What did I tell you about this Lifetime shit, Sammy? The only love that should be mentioned around me is my love for Baby and pie. Nothing else, no one else.” He took a long swig of his beer as to put an exclamation point to his declaration.

 

Despite knowing his brother was at his limit and saying anything else might get glass imbedded in his skull, Sam couldn't help but say, “But do you _know_ the expression you have on your face when you watch Dr. Sexy?”

 

“This bottle is going straight up your ass, Sam!”

 

Sam dodged for the door, cackling all the way, and bolted out into the chilled spring evening to his own room further down the courtyard, door locked and later properly salted to prevent the demon now possessing his brother from entering. If the chair Dean were sitting in didn't prevent him from standing up with the posture and pain of a 90-year-old man, he could have caught and smacked the snot out of his smartass kid brother. Now he was furious and crippled on top of being confused.

 

Not being able to stand the sight of it anymore, Dean decided the cursed object would make swell company for the Impala tonight.

 

<>

 

The day had stopped being enjoyable long before Castiel, the chair and bitchface Sam. Three days ago they received a call from Garth about a possible chernobog in Springfield, Illinois. The bodies found that led to the speculation seemed to agree with its _modus operandi_ : night time attacks, indiscriminate victims, outdoors but easily within view from passersby, insides on the outside. But, as always, a tricky thing leading to a solid identification of a chernobog is the wounds themselves. Beasts of humanoid shape and claws that more closely resembled blades, the attacks could be blamed on human exploits despite the horrendous state of the bodies; stabbing and slashing motions matching the height and angle of any ordinary homicidal individual. The difficult identification of such an attack normally made the boys pass on the job, but Garth had a knack for be incredibly persuasive while at the same time being begrudgingly annoying. So they went.

 

Two morgue visits (where Sam is confoundedly in his element), a police interview, three grieving relatives and one minute of watching the local news, they found themselves at the end of their case. Fortunately or unfortunately, they could not decide, this was all one man's doing. One man, about Dean's age, with entirely too many tools in his shed and no hobbies. He had simply walked into the police station Sam had been at only two hours before and admitted the crimes not out of guilt but for everyone to know it was him who committed them, as if he were affronted them had not caught him earlier. Maybe it was a good thing Sam had left by the time this guy had arrived, otherwise he would have been arrested for assault. A call back to Garth and they were officially off the case.

 

Off the job early, a late lunch was in order. Finally getting some off into his stomach brightened Dean's mood significantly and while he did not suspect it, Castiel had the same effect on Sam. The burger was great, he was getting under Sam's skin, and he was heading back home the next day. Pretty nice. The senseless murders of three individuals still weighed on him but hell, kill the demon or turn in the bastard that caused it, the result was the same. What else could he do?

 

 _Just keep doing what I've been doing since I was a kid: kill boogymen, fuck up every relationship I've ever been in, no dents or scratches on Baby, and protect Sammy_. Dean smiled bitterly. On all accounts he's failed, several times over, lost track of how many time each has happened in this decade alone. Really now, how can he - what gives him the audacity to think that he can and should be saving others? It's unrealistic and god damn idiotic.

 

But it should not be this way, not now; the self-loathing act can be put on the back burner for now. He's pissed at Sam. Siblings taunting and teasing one another comes as naturally as breathing, but there are some times where it should not be appropriate. Speaking of the L-word, for example, was non-negotiable. It's a low blow, a dirty tactic to Dean no different than if he used Sam's drinking demon blood as a weapon. You just don't do it.

 

What gave “love” its power the incite Dean's defenses at a moment's notice was that he gave it the power to. But why? Is it truly such an awful thing? Sam and Jess loved each other. That's fine. Mom and Dad. Awesome. Even that unstable chick Becky liked Chuck and had a nerd fling. What was it about him that made the word into a curse?

 

Dean groaned, chastising himself for thinking the same thing Sam was trying to question him about. How long had he been standing under the stream of the shower lost in thought? Judging by the chocking steam and cooling water temperature, long enough. As he turned the knob off he heard a voice on the other side of the curtain.

 

“I didn't want to startle you, so I thought it best to announce my arrival.”

 

And now there's Cas, his innocent angel without the definition of “buffer zone.” He did promise to return to try again, but so soon? The word “impatient” flashed quickly into his mind's eye. Right. Not only could he not wait until tomorrow to serenade him with words he did not understand, but he also couldn't wait until Dean was dried and dressed. After this poetry problem was put to rest, it was back to practicing waiting calmly and cultivating humility.

 

As if reading Dean's mind, and he probably was, Castiel said rather sharply, “I don't know why you are embarrassed of being naked in front of me. We have been far more intimate already.”

 

We have?

 

“We have?”

 

“Yes,” Cas growled back. “I have seen, touched your soul when I retrieved you from Hell. Viewing your genitalia is beyond comparison.”

 

“Sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Dean sarcastically retorted. After saying such a blunt statement, did Cas even want to look at him? To his understanding, he had some sort of soul/angel sex with Dean already, without his knowing. Did that count? Would physical intercourse compare?

 

Why was he thinking about sex with Cas? Sex was still such a distant objective... Was it? _I'm naked and thinking about sex. Cut it out. Think about something else. Crowley. Teddy bears. Cas reciting more poetry, which he is going to do shortly if I don't find a way to stop this madness._

 

“I know what you're going to do, Cas, but would you please let me get dressed first? I'm getting a little cold standing around.” Which was true; the drying water left goosebumps to creep along his skin.

 

There was a quick rustle of movement on the other side of the curtain before it was not-so-gently pulled aside by the determined angel. The sound the eldest Winchester made was horribly undignified, hands fruitlessly attempting to cover himself. Cas rolled his eyes as he handed Dean a towel. “I have also seen you naked before.”

 

“And when the hell was this!” Dean yelled, affronted. Suddenly he was not as cold anymore.

 

Cas's eyes shifted to the side, recalling the instances in his head. After a disturbing amount of time had passed Dean could stand no more. “Alright, I get it. You're a pervert. Groping my soul in Hell and using your invisibility trenchcoat to peek in on me getting undressed. Don't know how I didn't see it before.”

 

“Be silent and take the towel. I believe I found something you may enjoy more than what I said at the diner.”

 

“Yeah, about that.” Lifting his hands from the secure position of covering his junk from prying angel eyes he grabbed the scratchy motel towel. That was something that bothered him, his knee-jerk reaction to Castiel seeing him naked. Nudity in front of strangers was nothing new: the one night stands to orderlies that were only doing their job. Not that Castiel was a stranger, but the fact that he felt so comfortable with people he knew for an hour or less seeing him in the same way he came into this world troubled him a great deal. Cas was supposed to be... Why was he treating him as a nuisance, like a child begging for his parents attention or someone lesser? Like he wasn't his...

 

“Could you, um, move aside, Cas?” He asked, ashamed of himself. It was time to get out of the shower and hear Castiel out, but not before he asked something else. Cas obliged, nearly taking a seat on the sink. “I promise to listen to you, but you have to answer a question I have first, then,” he wrapped the towel around his waist, “you can say whatever you want.”

 

Castiel nodded. The change in Dean's demeanor did not go unnoticed.

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Why do you think you have to recite poetry to me?”

 

“What else could I say?”

 

“What could you say?” He laughed. “You could not quote Shakespeare for starters.”

 

Cas tilted his head to the side. Oh god, it's adorable and wait, why is he confused? “You mean that...” He looked down, putting the pieces together. “Was Sam lying to me?”

 

“ _Sam_?” Dean balked. “What does Sam have to do with this?” He didn't like where this was going.

 

“I trusted him to not deceive me,” Cas hissed to himself. At this moment Dean did not exist in the small bathroom with him. His focus, his indignation, was directed right at Sam for not only did he toy with his own emotions, but with Dean's also. This was unacceptable. For this embarrassment, Sam should suffer an equally embarrassing fate. “Excuse me, Dean.” Before Dean could make a peep in protest, Cas took off in a flutter.

 

 _Damnit, now what?_ Dean thought. At least he politely flew off in a hurry this time. The mention of Sam, that was the million dollar question. What did he have to do with Cas making a fool of himself? Dean corrected himself: How did Sam help make Cas a fool of himself? The angel though of Sam as not much more than a confidant, a familiar face to go to in a time of crisis. The relationship was less hatred, more tolerance. The circumstances must have been extreme for the two to work together. With his brother being involved, he knew the interest could not be favorable for him or Cas.

 

At least he could put on a pair of pants while he waited. Cas could be gone for either a minute or a week, best to continue as normal. Dean grabbed the duffel bag at the side of his bed and dug out a pair of boxers on the bottom to sleep in. Not that he was in the mood to sleep, at the least he could get in bed and get comfortable after a day of confusion and absolute bullshit, of failed cases and ruined lunches. For now, he will pull the sheets back, hop under the covers, turn on the TV and kill some brain cells.

 

He was halfway there when Cas materialized next to him with the closest resemblance to a smirk Dean had ever seen on him.

 

“The problem has been rectified.”

 

“Care to elaborate on what the problem is?” Guess television is out of the question. He leaned his back against the headboard and crossed his legs out in front of him.

 

“Your brother has played us both for fools. He needed to be disciplined.” He turned his head to both sides. “I'd like to sit but I see no ch–“

 

“There aren't any.”

 

“But there is a table.”

 

“It's gone. It broke. Needs to be repaired. It's outside.”

 

“Why?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Never you mind about that. What's this problem that you 'rectified?'” Dean mocked Cas' rough voice.

 

Taking note of the imitation but choosing to ignore it, Cas answered. “Your brother has taken advantage of my ignorance.”

 

“Well, that's pretty easy to do,” Dean smiled, recalling the times he himself had abused his friendship privileges with the cautious angel. The brothel. The science experiments he called meals when he was desperate for something to keep him occupied at the Batcave. The volume of the radio in the Impala when Cas's claustrophobia was tolerable. (“This song is softer, I swear. You're gonna like it.”). Misrepresenting the danger of a case and, as was the Winchester way of accomplishing goals, needing to be saved by the person put in that situation with them. Cas could put up with a lot. Obviously: he claimed Dean as his. He read the fine print, now he had to accept the lemon he was sold. “Really though. What happened?”

 

Cas sat at the foot of the bed and handed a book to Dean. Naturally, seeing an aged book like this, his mind went straight to the hex theory, but skimming through the dog-eared pages he saw the same passages he viewed online. He looked up back at Cas, expecting more of an explanation than “your brother is mean so I read a book.”

 

“I, um, needed Sam's help with something rather mundane. He lent me that.”

 

“Let me get this straight. You needed help with something ridiculous like changing a light bulb or something, and Sam gives you that? Not buying it, man. What really happened?”

 

“It involved you directly, so I could not turn to you for advice. I... am unsure of how to speak to you sometimes.”

 

Dean smiled sympathetically. “That makes two of us. So you go to Sam for assistance and he plays Dr. Drew for you.”

 

“I do not know who that is, but I assume the answer is yes.”

 

“So he gave you this.” He held out the book.

 

“Correct.”

 

“And just what exactly led you to believe I liked poetry?”

 

Cas looked down between his knees and replied back timidly, “I was unsure.”

 

Dean sighed and pushed himself onto his knees to crawl next to Cas, who looked pitiful and so small in his coat. He sat on the side of the bed alongside him, hunching over exactly like him in hopes it would relieve some of the tension Cas felt. “I don't believe that. I get the feeling that you know me better than I do. Because, like you said, you felt up my soul. That's basically the real me, right? Without the baggage or limitations. The wholesome and gooey purity of the Righteous Man.” Dean laughed derisively, shaking his head. “I still can't believe I'm that guy.”

 

Cas' head whipped to face Dean, the self-consciousness replaced by a fire. “Don't ever believe you are not. What I saw in you, what I felt when I grasped your soul...” Cas searched his knowledge of the English language but failed to find a word to describe it, that feeling. No word, no matter how eloquent, would be insufficient.

 

“That's exactly what I mean. You know me; you're just a little nervous.”

 

Castiel's gaze softened, but his ice blue eyes remained trained on Dean. “That is partially true. I know your soul, your personality, but I still have much to learn of your likes and dislikes. I am correct in assuming you do not enjoy the works of William Shakespeare?”

 

“Shit no.”

 

“I will remember that.” And Cas smiled, one of the relief of cleared air, of a lesson learned and knowledge gained, as comical as it was. A smile he hadn't seen since he and Sam found Cas after finding him with Meg at the hospital; the innocence remained, but thankfully the curse of insanity was not. He was smiling, fully capable, of sound mind, relieved and content with Dean next to him and not being frustrated with him. And it was all just for Dean. The way his eyes shown so brightly, the crinkles that would thicken around the corner of his eyes as a grin became broader, the tilt of his head, exposing inviting pale flesh.

 

Alright. Knock it off. Enough of that. Dean coughed into his hand in a poor attempt to shake the rather amorous thoughts from his head and internally chided himself. _A smile? Really? Getting dopey over a damn smile? What is happening with my life?_

 

“Are you OK?”

 

“Oh yeah, totally,” Dean managed to sputter out as he tried to catch his breath. “Itch in my throat.” The topic needed to be changed, and quickly. “Anyway, so what was that about a problem?”

 

“Yes,” Cas agreed, regaining focus. “I do not think Sam will interfere in our relationship. For an indefinite amount of time, I suppose.”

 

Oh, he didn't like where this was going. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Castiel rose from the bed, preparing for Dean's reaction. “He had to be punished, Dean.”

 

“And again I say, _what do you mean by that?_ ” Dean did by no means disagree that Sam should be slapped around for being such a bitch and taking advantage of Cas, but only he was allowed to do that. Sam was his littler brother, and the bylaws of the Little Brother Initiative state that Dean gets to kick the ever-loving kinship out of Sam when he steps out of line. Here was Cas, through no fault of his own, taking matters into his own hands. Dean was... unsure of how to handle this, but raising his voice seemed natural. He knew Cas would do nothing to harm Sam but... what exactly _would_ he do if he could not physically harm someone? Smiting and vengeance were all he knew; for an angel, a gentle punishment is a difficult concept to partake in.

 

“I... sent him away.”

 

Dean had to gawk. Was Cas being cheeky with him? Here Dean was, this close to shoving his fist down Cas's throat and he was enjoying it? He was! Though his face was back to its normal steely cold, his eyes took on the light of pleasure. The god damn balls this angel had.

 

Before he could comprehend fully what he was doing, Dean shot up onto his feet, fist balled up at his side lest he need to use it. Cas remained still, completely blasé, expecting this reaction out of Dean. Rather than feeling affronted by Dean's furious demeanor, he began to understand the desire the brothers had to taunt and tease one another relentlessly. There was something satisfying here that he could not place his finger on. A different satisfaction from when he would hear moving music, taste something unexpectedly delicious, and the times when the Winchester was not threatening him with physicality.

 

Taking a deep breath to ease his nerves, Dean asked, “Where did you send him?”

 

Cas focused his grace to repress the smirk he felt close to the surface. “Do not worry; I will return him in one hour.”

 

Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulders and shook him hard enough to nearly send him into the door. “Where is he, Cas!”

 

The response he got was brief. Cas raised his hand to Dean's face and gently ghosted his thumb across his stubbled cheek. “He's safe. Uncomfortable, but safe.” Before Dean could slap his hand away or punch him or yell, he flew off, leaving him fuming, concerned for the well-being of his brother, and instantly very naked in his shorts.

 

“Damnit, Cas, get your holy ass back down here!” Dean shouted to the ceiling.

 

His response was the pounding of the wall from his neighbor who yelled just as loudly for Dean to “pip the hell down in there.”

 

<>

 

It was precisely one hour later when Castiel returned with Sam. Rather than poofing back to the hotel room with Sam on his arm, there was a knock on Dean's door. He figured since Cas didn't want to get punched in the face, he placed his brother back in his hotel room and would not make his face known until Dean had time to cool down. As Dean opened the door and heard the rustle of wings, the reality of Cas's plan hit him.

 

Sam was on the other side of the door and for that he was incorrect, as well as Castiel not being there to greet Dean. Rather, barely illuminated by the lamp by the hotel door was Sam, sitting in that god-forsaken chair, the top half of his body completely drenched with some non-threatening liquid, long hair stringy and plastered to his face. His arms were crossed over his chest with the mother of all bitchfaces on display, like the pouting of a child denied a toy. Sam looked miserable for certain, but harmed physically he was not.

 

Dean had no idea how to respond to the sight. He was relieved Sam was safe, but this... This was odd.

 

“Sammy?” He ventured out. Sam did not reply, nor make an attempt to move. “Sam?” He tried again.

 

“Your boyfriend sucks,” Sam finally grunted.

 

“Beg your pardon?” He let Sam's use of the normally uncomfortable word “boyfriend” slide.

 

“He...” Sam began before mumbling off.

 

“Come on Sam, talk to me,” Dean said from the door frame.

 

“ _Clowns_ , Dean. Clowns,” he growled, drawling, nostrils flaring.

 

Dean shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean, clowns?”

 

“Clowns... Circus... So many clowns...”

 

“Cas sent you to a circus?” This may be one of the strangest stories of revenge Dean has ever heard. But taking into consideration that it was his angel dishing out the punishment, it might make perfect sense.

 

Sam continued, blatantly ignoring his brother. “Awful makeup... They weren't even funny... Wouldn't leave me alone.”

 

“Is this like a Nam flashback you're having?”

 

He shook his head, not in response to Dean but hoping the movement would jangle the memories out of his head. “I was sprayed by seltzer water. I thought that only happened in cartoons.”

 

Yup. Most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. The strange day just keeps on trucking. “Cas must have knocked me out before he left because this has to be a dream.”

 

“He kidnapped me and dropped me in a gaggle of clowns. God damnit Dean, your boyfriends sucks.”

 

Dean covered his mouth with his forearm to stifle the laugh he felt rising in his throat. It was all too much for him to take seriously. Not any more. Sammy was back and healthy so stabbing Cas was not necessary, so now his sole focus would be enjoying Sam's discomfort, much as Sam did with Dean's earlier in the day. He'd hold it in, hold back the laugh until it was right. It would be one to savor.

 

Sam crinkled his nose and looked about him. “This chair is uncomfortable.”

 

Dean's howling laughter echoed off the walls of the courtyard, ringing in Sam's ears. He heard his neighbor screeching at him again, but he did not give a damn.

 

<>

 

“So you did not notice my presence last night?”

 

“Nope. I was pretty surprised, too.” Dean placed a coffee cup in front of Castiel as he took a sip of his own and sat across from him.

 

It had been five days since Cas absconded his brother and delivered him into the waiting arms of several clowns, surrounded by screaming children who were just as likely afraid of the clowns as Sam was. It had also been five days of Sam being horrified at the mention of Cas's name, his mind now registering the name with “the harbinger of bad tidings and honking red noses.”

 

Avoiding Castiel while in the Men of Letters base was starting to become a hassle as his presence became a staple there, spending more and more time by Dean's side. Any other time he would had enjoyed the company of a friendly face at home, filling out some of the cavernous space the boys were not used to inhabiting. But the sight of shock black hair sent him turning on his heels. Cooking a meal could wait, he wasn't that hungry. If he needed to talk to Dean, he would call. At least Cas never used the bathroom. Sam was thankful for small handouts.

 

“You're going to have to talk to him eventually,” Dean chided to Sam in passing; Cas was waiting in the kitchen.

 

“Not until the nausea goes away,” he bemoaned, shuffling back to his room.

 

Castiel nodded. “I am glad to hear that.” And he was. It was the first time he had slept next to Dean for a full night, not getting kicked off and no grunts or complaints. If Dean could feel his eyes watching, he would simply turn away from him, as much as it pained Cas to do so. Being in such close proximity to Dean for such a length of time, no interruptions, sharing body heat, listening to Dean's measured breathing – it was worth it. Staring at the wall concerned him not at all, for as the night moved on he inched his body further and further back until he was flush against Dean. That was worth it.

 

He lifted the cup to his lips and drank the steaming liquid. The taste was not the thing that drew him to taking another cup as he could never find a mixture of cream and sugar that satisfied him, but rather it was the routine, a traditional custom he wished to acquire. A small gesture he could exert to get closer to Dean. The human suspected Cas didn't like the drink, but seeing the determination in his face as he finished the drink, he would fill up a cup along with his own every time he turned the coffee pot on.

 

Dean too began to enjoy these fragments of moments he spent with Cas. In his heart it was the closest to normal he has had in several years. It was all disgustingly domestic and would otherwise make him gag, but he deserved it. He'd earned this cheesy little slice of life.

 

Cas looked off in space in reverence, recalling an old memory.

 

“ _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:_

 _for thy love_ is _better than wine.”_

 

Dean raised an eyebrow, but did not protest.

 

“ _Draw me, we will run after thee:_

_the King hath brought me into his chambers:_

_we will be glad and rejoice in thee,_

_we will remember thy love more than wine:_

_the upright love thee.”_

 

The angel chuckled. “It was so obvious I was completely oblivious to it.”

 

“Did you recite some classy biblical porn just for me?” Dean teased.

 

“Better than what you would read in _Busty Asian Beauties_?”

 

Dean stretched out his legs and rested his hands on his stomach, cocky in his answer. “One does not enjoy _Busty Asian Beauties_ for its articles.”

 

“You have much to teach me, Dean.”

 

“Thank your Dad you have a good teacher, huh?” Dean asked with a lopsided grin.

 

Cas rolled his eyes in exaggeration.

 

Yes. This was good.

 

“This is something that's been bugging me since your failed courting gesture and I'm surprised you haven't figured it out by now.”

 

“What concerns you?” Castiel said with trepidation, not like being reminded of that failed excursion. What further embarrassment did Dean need to point out?

 

“You are aware that you were going to read me Shakespeare next to a toilet, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Use of Love Sonnet 23 and Song of Solomon 1:2, 4, King James version


End file.
